Boredom Industries Presents
by Nephilum-Kat
Summary: A grouping of random one-shots using the Naruto cast. Individual chapter ratings and warnings inside.
1. Its Always

**Hello?:** 'Sup everyone! I've created here for you a collection of 49 one-shots, all depicting different scenarios, with different character pairings, yatta yatta. These are really just manifests of things that affected me during the day – my life is so astoundingly exciting that I have forty-nine one-shots dedicated to it (not). Really, these are leisure posting, and will probably only be put up during breaks in my stories (when they are posted).  
**Disclaimer:** Nephilum Kat owns naught but the computer she has typed on and the crappiness of the stories themselves. No prophet is being made through these short stories, and none ever will be.  
**Warning:** Chapters have individual ratings. The general rating is probably T. It will, however, be raised, depending on latter chapters. All chapters are un-beta-d. The pairing, chapter raiting, and notes will be posted above the chapters. If a certain coupling does not appeal to you, please skip the chapter. Don't come crying to me about a couple you don't like - yaoi, yuri, or het, depending - because, obviously, you didn't read the notice above the chapter. /end rant

Now that I'm done fuming, please enjoy the oneshots. :3

* * *

Paring: ShikaIno  
Chapter Rating: K, pure fluffiness  
Notes: Mwahahaha. Evil. Or crap. Call it what you will. I really don't like this one, but I just couldn't bring myself to redo it, after it was redone three times.

* * *

**It's Always**

* * *

For some one in the ninja business, there is always something to be done. People to guard, packages to be delivered, missing nin to hunt down. But, no matter the mission, no matter the client, or the circumstances, a ninja must always be ready.

Take the infamous disciple of Gai, Rock Lee, for example. Vigorous, hard working, and attentive – to a degree – Lee is a great ninja. He takes every mission seriously, from delivering mail to capturing rogue ninja, everything is a trial of his endurance.

But, even if every ninja where like Lee and Gai – thank Kami they aren't – they would not be prepared for the greatest mission of all… a relationship. As one Nara Shikamaru finds out.

* * *

The shower had been running for forty-five minutes, and there seemed to be no end in sight for the pitter-patter of water. Shikamaru sighed. Women, he knew, where fickle creatures, and he had best let Ino do as she pleased, lest her feminine wrath fall on him. And that, fellow ninja, would not be good for the lazy genius.

He had just sat down on the recliner– after having gotten up from the bed, the blankets where irritating him – when there was a thump and a cry of "SHIKAMARU" that he was sure the entire village heard.

Standing, he waltzed leisurely to the door, before opening it and slipping inside the bathroom. "Yes, Ino dear?" He asked, while leaning against the marble sink top.

The blonde woman peeked around the translucent blue curtain, her hair turned light brown by water and shampoo. "Which body wash should I use? Lavender or chamomile?" She asked, her hands clutching the side of the curtain to her front. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen her naked.

"Lavender." He rolled his eyes.

"And conditioner? Rose or violet?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Rose." He yawned.

"And soap? Blue or green?" She put one hand on her hip, glaring at him.

"Green." He drolled out, tossing a smirk at her.

"Thank you dear, now off with you." She grinned like one of those perverse old ladies and waved him off, and he exited the bathroom with only a puff of steam to show for it.

It was twenty minutes later that a purple towel clad Ino exited the bathroom, to find her boyfriend asleep on the over stuffed leather chair in the corner of the bed room.

"Nara Shikamaru, you wake up right now, or so help me Kami-sama!" She hollered, and the brunet man's eyes drifted open. He smiled genially. "Yes Ino-chan?" She huffed and pulled the towel around her tighter, before flouncing off to the closet to gather up clothing for him to 'yes' or 'no', whether he liked it or not.

Four dresses, six shirt and skirt/pant sets later, Ino walked out of the closet with a little blue dress embroidered in silver held to her chest. "And this one?"

Shikamaru sighed. He, in all honesty, really didn't want to go where every they where supposed to go tonight. Forget the fact that he couldn't remember where they where going, he just didn't want to go. "You want to know what I think you should wear?" He asked, after exhaling through his nose in exasperation. She nodded enthusiastically, a smile on her face. He stood slowly, walked leisurely to her, and took the dress from her delicate hands. After resting it gently atop the pile on the bed, he pulled her in all her towel clad glory to the leather recliner, sat down, and placed her next to him.

"I think you should wear that. The towel. And we just won't go." He murmured into her hair. She curled against him, with her knees drawn up next to his left thigh and her head on his chest, and sighed. "Your right. You always are."

He snorted, rolling his eyes, while resting his cheek on the top of her head and stroking her hair.

"No, I'm not. That's why I have you to correct me."

In the end, they didn't go where ever they where supposed to go – not that either could remember, and neither cared – and Ino figured that the best outfit was one chosen by your boyfriend, because he knew what fit you best.


	2. Burning Ozone

Boredom strikes again! Omg! Burning ozone. Smells like chakra discharge to me, but we shall see. We shall see.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own, and unless that restraining order gets lifted, never will XD.  
**Pairing:** Uncertain, hints of yaoi-ness, uke and seme positions undetermined **if** there is a relationship between the lines.  
**Rating:** T, character death, violence, angst.  
**Note:** I am waaaayyy past this fight in the series, but it's a battle of epic proportions, and needs to be abused in every way possible. Because I say so. And yes, I know its over used, chopped up, and smells like dead fish, but it was fun to write. :3

* * *

**Burning Ozone**

* * *

It was so loud, the water. So loud. It thundered in his ears, until it drowned out everything. Everything, except his pounding heartbeat and the scream of a thousand birds in his hands.

He was standing one moment, looking across the mirror like lake at him – orange never looked so blue – pouring all his power into that one hand. _I am stronger._ Then he was running, and the water sprayed behind him, and the birds kept screaming. _Why is it so loud?_ He was so close then, just a few more feet and they would collide, a few more feet, and maybe he would dodge. _Why aren't you moving?_ Doubt, thick and sour, blossomed in him, and he could see in his minds eye, his arm moving, going just a little bit too far down, to the left, or maybe to far up, to the right, or just missing; some how, some how. _Why won't you move?_

But he didn't, couldn't, direct it any other way, and then… Silence.

Everything just… stopped. He couldn't hear the burn of the chidori, the thunder of the waterfall behind him, or his heartbeat in his ears. He couldn't hear the thick sound of blood hitting water, or the semi-quiet way that his opponent – friend, teammate, brother – gasped for air, struggling to hold on. _Just one more breath, just one more, just one more._ He knew it was coming, he could taste it, but it was so different, so foreign, from moments before. The tips of his fingers itched, the strangled brushing of pumping muscle touching them at intervals, frantic like a dying dove in his hands. Nervously, almost shyly, he let his gaze wonder up from the white ruff of Naruto's collar, up, up, up, to those startling blue eyes. And he couldn't breath.

The blond hung there, gasping for oxygen while his heart fluttered in the crimson palm of Sasuke's hand, his eyes wide and dilated. He opened his mouth once, twice, three times, his eyes unfocused and directed somewhere over Sasuke's head and up, his breath shaky.

"Why didn't you move?"

Blue eyes flickered down, focusing once again on the raven-haired youth. He tilted his head to the side, confusion making his brow furrow. His breathing was becoming more labored, his heart beating faster, his one remaining lung expanding and collapsing hurriedly.

"Why didn't you move? Out of my way?" He repeated, his voice cracking. He couldn't look at the blonde just then, so he refocused his crimson stare at the water beneath the other boys dangling feet. _Why?_

What happened next surprised him, making his head snap up. The dobe chuckled. It wasn't a kind sound, for what bubbled up from his throat was full of broken glass and gravel, undercoated with thick metallic smelling blood. It was not a sound he liked. The chuckle turned into a wet cough, and soon he was back to gasping for air, and Sasuke couldn't help but think that it sounded like the life giving oxygen was getting caught in the back of his throat, making that horrible rasping sound. He took in a big gulp of air before trying to speak.

"Be-because… this is…what," he ended up coughing again, his torso shaking. Sasuke didn't want to let go of his heart. If he did, he wouldn't be sure if he could save him.

A cocky grin bloomed on the blondes face, laced with pain and acceptance – of what Sasuke didn't want to guess.

"This is what you wanted, right?"

He scrunched his eyes shut. He couldn't accept that. He wouldn't! He wouldn't…

"R-right, Sasuke?" He turned his head away quickly, couching up blood onto the water below. His heart beats where frantic, but shallow. No…

Crimson met blue, and that smile, that smile that the brunette hated so much, pushed through onto the others face. "I'm sure your parents will like me." That grin, that grin that made his heart pull and pinch, stayed on his lips, even as the light in his eyes died out.

In the end, all he was left with was the noise and the smell of burning ozone.

* * *

Angst-tacular, right? Sorry, but I just _had_ to do it. Had to! Anyway, stay tuned for more crap-tastic one shots!


	3. Stretch and Role

Pairing: NaruSasu  
Pairing: NaruSasu, implied NaruNeji, and NaruGaa  
Rating: M Surprisingly.  
Note: When the world gets a little high, sanity is your only enemy.  
**Warning: **Violence, character death, sex seen-ish thing, twisted notions of perspective, crack, unusual outlooks, italic abuse, and a healthy dose of Kyuubi for your trouble. Naruto/Kyuubi POV. This is a single person thinking.

**_WARNING!! IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE INSANITY, BOYxBOY LOVE, AND CHARACTER DEATH, THIS CHAPTER IS NOT FOR YOU. PLEASE BACK SPACE, AND WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER. THANK YOU... CAPS ABUSE!!_**

* * *

"Stretch and Role"

* * *

Sunlight spatters dapple leaf shadows on a carpet of moss and weed and leaf. The tree is tall and old, its ancient arms reach, reach, reaching above us, leafy hair absorbing the sun like a sponge to water. Its roots are gnarled and twisted, covered in moss and little fungi, with splotches of red coagulating in streaks, long fingers reaching and curling into the ground. A body rests in its withered hands, nestled in a macabre cradle. Shifting sunlight shows an animal's corpse, shadows show a human girl, hair splayed across dirt sprinkled roots and surrounded by smudges of crimson life. Our eyes glance over, taking in the sight of fallen green eyed she thing – broken arms, pulverized vertebra from seven through eighteen, shattered knee cap, gash on inside of right leg and left arm, three inches deep, blood pools and gushes _still_, broken ribs from second down, punctured lung, torn esophagus, concussion – waiting. We are cunning, and she thing did not expect us, and she fought like a civilian _girl_. The sun is high in the sky now, and black-red silver haired thing will be at the place soon. Our plan is perfect, the execution – _which one? Hahahaha…_- flawless, and now we wait.

_The body is broken because of us, but not entirely decimated, or gone. Predator will wait, crouched in the bushes yards from the green eyed she creature, the branches and leaves brushing and scraping our exposed skin, our claws dig into moist earth, tearing gashes in its flesh. We wait for the raven-haired creature, for we know that red-black silver-haired creature will send him for green-eyed she-creature. And then we will strike._

We watch, all our senses on alert, pin prick and strained like an over used limb, watching as black feather creatures pick at the green eyed creatures corpse. It must look real, authentic, natural, but there must be enough there to identify, or else raven-haired creature will not stay long, and we may, may, may loose our chance. Fight or flight, fight or flight, he will ask himself, when we attack, and he will chose fight, because he is raven feather creature, and we have been watching him for a long time, yes we have. Yes, we have. We chased away the black feather creatures, they where getting over zealous in their picking of the green eyed creature, and the needed to leave, leave, leave! She had to be recognizable, stupid, stupid birds.

_Predator chased away a dark fur creature, too, which snapped and whined and growled. He bit at us, but went away. And we had to chase away a rust fur she creature, who we so wanted to have some of the green eyed creature, but we couldn't allow that, and we chased her away too. Our toes and claws began to itch, and where was that raven-haired creature? Wasn't he going to come look for the green eyed she creature? We thought that the red-black silver haired creature was dedicated to this team! Where was he? Raven-haired creature is stubborn though. Are they still waiting for us? Ha… well, green-eyed creature won't be coming to battle practice anymore. No, no, no. No more squeely pink haired she thing, no more hitting, no more doting on raven-haired creature. Raven-haired creature is ours. OURS! It's just too bad that green eyed she creature learned this too late. Too late, too late. We do not feel sorry for green-eyed thing, now do we?_

The sun is getting low in the sky again, and raven-haired creature is still not here. Is he lost? We doubt. Is he just to stubborn to look? No, no. Two teammates missing is bad, bad, bad for raven-haired creature. Who will he fight with? Who will he spar with, if not red-black silver haired thing? Raven-haired creature will not loose his rival, no, no. Too stubborn for that. But then, where is he? We rest our knees into the dirt and retract our claws, waiting.

_What is it about raven-haired creature that attracts us so? Is it the way he squirms under us, the way he breaths around us, the way he fights and yet needs it so? We have tried to stay with others, with the pale-eyed dark haired creature, and with the light-eyed red creature, but it is not the same, never the same, and we keep coming back. Why? Is it your hair, or your eyes, or your mouth, sneer and smile so, or your hands, or your body, that drags us back. Who is really the dominant in this situation? Predator, or you, raven haired creature? You are our addiction, with your flawless china skin and depthless eyes and soft blue-black hair. You are our sanity, our candle in this dark, dank, depressing world. You are the light in my cage…_

… and you have yet to come for us. We are growing aggravated, we are, we are. Do not leave us waiting, raven-haired creature, or you will regret it, like the green eyed one regrets forever tormenting us. She regrets like you regret your family, silly raven, and she regrets and regrets alone, like we have lived alone, and now she might understand our plights, our need for familial ties. You and we are one and the same, raven-haired child, and we want you…

_… like an oxygen starved plant. Predator will wait for all eternity for you, but we know you will come, and when you do, you will never truly leave us. You will always, always, always come back, because we have trapped you, yes indeed, trapped like a rabbit. A pretty black bunny to be fried over the spit and chewed and relished and never forgotten, because you taste so good, and Predator will always remember, always._

There! That is it! The stirring in the bushes to our left. We sniff the air, we smell you, little raven-haired creature, and we can hear you calling for us. "Green eyed creature", you hands are cupped around your mouth, and you are calling for us, "Predator." You are nearing the macabre tree bed, where she lies, where Predator put her, and where Predator waits. We will get you, pretty raven-haired creature. You are getting closer, loud in our ears, brushing through bushes and getting closer and closer still. Predator will eat you up. Yes we will. You are so close to her now, just a few more feet, a few more… yes!

_You do not see us leap out of the bushes, but when we collide you are ready to fight, we roll and tumble, crashing through mud and bushes, and we direct you away from green eyed creature, and roll you deeper into the forest. The trees grow thicker, and we stop against a trunk, bark scrapes our back, and we are tangled in roots._

You are fighting again, silly raven, fighting even though you want - need - us, like we need you. We will have you, we will take you, we will eat you, and you will love us for it forever and ever and ever. Silly raven. You scratch and claw at us, your metal claws lost in our tumble, and you hiss and spit and snarl, and we just croon to you, calm down little raven haired creature. You are safe, safe with us. But who will protect you from Predator, we wonder. Who?

_The next moments are a blur, even to us. One moment you are covered in that silly over skin, the next you are on you hands and knees, snarling at us, and we croon back to you, and then its all a jumble of bodies, and sweat and flipped position, and rolling, and movement, your smell permeates the air, covers our skin, and we wonder if you recognize the smell on you as Predator. Does it cloud your senses as you scream under us? Does it make you shiver and need us? We can't say, because Predator is not silly raven drug. We are moving, sweat covered bodies, and that is all we know, until we reach out and grab the peak, and you scream out our name and we growl and snap. It's over again. It's over, for just this moment, it is over._

The dapple light of the moon shows leaf and grass covered earth, the shadows show two blood, mud, and dirt covered bodies, nestled in a macabre nest of tree roots and torn up grass. In the morning we know you will leave, but for now, for now you lay curled against us, skin to skin, and we listen to you breath. Some times we watch you in your little wooden den, and we know that it is only after these nights, when we wrestle in the leaves and dirt and grass, that you sleep peacefully. We listen to your breathing, while moving the long bangs from your face. We shift slightly, rolling you – we do that a lot, don't we? – so that your head rests on our shoulder, and we wrap one arm around you, while curling in, protecting.

_In the morning we are alone. Those silly over skin shorts of yours are gone, but your shirt remains, hidden from view in a nook of the root bed. We look around the small clearing, at the ripped up weeds and ruts in the earths skin, and we know, as we inhale your scent from the air where you lay last night, that you will be back. You always come back..._

* * *

Well, that's different. If you have trouble understanding it, know you're not alone. It confuses even me XD Just so you know: Sakura DID die. She is the 'green eyed she thing', in the first trees roots, that the crows pick on. Yeah, I know, evil, evil me. R&R? Healthy criticism welcome, flamers are eaten, because if you didn't read the RATHER LOUD bolded italic warning up at the top, you just aren't worth my time.


	4. The Perfect Ending

Pairing: None.  
Rating: T for humane safety.  
Note: Naruto…? No owny. Don't rub it in. Angst tubular. Some more. Yay me.

* * *

The Perfect Ending To All Things Man

* * *

I can feel claws on my face, tearing the flesh of my cheeks, drawing forth blood, and it hits me that the claws are mine. All. Mine.

I can't remember what happened before - enemy ninja, forest, team, jutsu, falling, falling, fell, murky water, insanity - and all I know now is that this is release. Painful, beautiful release. I rip at my face faster, and my sharpened nails scrape against my teeth. My cheeks hang in shreds around my jaws, steaming as they heal.

I look up with hopeful eyes. I can't remember why I'm hopeful exactly, I just know I am. The fox looks down at me with a mixed gleam in his giant red eye. I can't bring myself to care why he looks that way, I just look at him, imploring, wanting, waiting. He will give me what I want. I know he will.

Power wraps around me, curling and burning into my skin. My skull burns, and my eyes dilate. I close them quickly, and when they snap open again, I am in the forest, and everything is astoundingly sharp and bathed in red. Everyone is an enemy. Life preservation comes first. They are in the way.

Some one calls to me. I remember faint pink, and green eyes. Good natured pain, and a brother-sister bond. There is another voice, one that strikes deeper, into something that once was.

This voice belongs to brother, friend, comrade, partner. A flash of blue-black and onyx, pale skin and bantering. Betrayal tints these memories black, and old me, young me, once me, scratches at the walls its been forced into. I cannot go back now. This is the last stand, the final fall. And I must jump alone.

I feel myself falling again, pulled deeper by the power. And then its all black. I think some one screamed.

--

_Sanity is a fleeting thing. The best of us teeter on insanity at all times. It shows we're alive. It lets us breath. Because society is sanity. And sanity is insane._

--

Lucidity is a fleeting thing in this moment. Or is it a day? I can't tell anymore. All I know is that they're gone. Gone, gone, gone. Because I killed them. Pink, silver, the others who I cannot remember for the life of me. All but one remains. He is the only one to kill me. The only one to live.

I watch him now, my head tilted to the side, as though regarding a bug on a branch. I must look inquisitive, almost child-like, hidden in this cloak of red and chakra. I wonder if I intimidate him, or if he still sees me, young me, blond, blue eyed me of minutes ago. I hope he can. I don't want to die a monster. At least, not to everyone.

He is panting now, his katana held out in front of him, eyes blood red and black, and I know that he knows what he must do. I'm happy, in a way. At least I know that I am stoppable. That I am not the end. That he is, and he can end me. He can carry it, I know. He has carried more than just this for more years than anyone should. I trust him with my life. And now its time to end it.

Sanity pulls back again, and he is no longer 'friend' but 'obstacle'. 'Obstacle' that makes my heart strings twitch when I hurt it, obstacle that can kill me. That must kill me. Must, because its the only way. The last resort of last resorts in a way, and I am trusting him with my last breath. With the last flash of sanity to ever see the light of day.

To anyone else our fight might have been too fast for sight, but for him, I know it will be imprinted on his memory forever. My memory won't last long enough for it to matter, so I don't care. Not anymore, at least.

His katana is in my chest, and I can't even feel it.

My eyes are so wide, my mouth agape.

I smile.

The perfect ending.

I don't think I was ever truly human, no matter how hard I tried.

* * *

Bah. This is what happens when Neph is grounded. This should never happen again. NEVER. XD

NeKa


	5. House and Home

**Pairing:** NaruSasuSaku OMG!  
**Rating:** High T. HIGH t. high T.  
**Note:** Bananas! B-a-n-a-n-a-s! BANANS! Eatthemandlive! MWAHAHAH!  
**Warning?:** Mung-chan told me I couldn't do a NaruSasuSaku fic with no dialog in it. I said I could. This is that bastard-child of a fic.  
**P.S:** They are seventeen and eighteen here. Because. I. Say. So.  
**P.S.S:** Beware me and my free fingers! Individual quirks make the team, make the people. Deal. XD Also, fear the depression undertone in the last part. I may make a sequel to this. Maybe…

* * *

**House and Home**

* * *

_For him it was a house._

_For her a home._

_For him it was sanctuary._

_For them it was their section of the world._

--

The morning is the sheppard of their working, dawns pale fingers tearing through the veil of night and slapping at their windows. The brunet is the first to rise, detangling himself from their pile of limbs and light breathing. The bed is far too small – a remnant of a tween-hood long past, tainted by all too adult things – and his bedmates are piled one a top the other, murmuring incoherencies and dreams to each other in the throws of sleep. His blond partner twitches at the loss of warmth and shifts, spreading more of his tan mass over their pink-haired counterpart. She, in turn, sighs; the other boy's outrageous body-heat a comfort in the crisp morning.

The brunet smiles, a little thing that is both endearing and kind, and finds his slippers. They are under the bed, a dark blue spot next to a set of outlandish orange foxes and pastel pink bunnies. The little swively eyes and cat ears are the only giveaway of their animal façade.

The house is quite at this time of morning – no loud blond boys running through the house, chased by sud-and-towel covered pinkettes, no exploding laughter and clattering pans, no lovers at all. It reminds him of the time – years upon years ago – that he had lived alone, in a silent house. He is glad, then, because of the blond boy and the pink girl, because there is life again, in his house.

_One day, his house became a home._

--

She is the second to rise, wiggling and twisting free of the blond mass that was her comforter in the early morn. He twitches, sighs, and curls in on himself, and she feels a moment of guilt's pull. He had been like that for so long now, even when they had become a team. For a moment she is tempted to crawl back into the bed with him, keep him warm, keep him safe. But her other boy is awake, and, from the sounds of tiny squeaking and shuffling from the kitchen, creating breakfast. It had surprised her, when they had first arrived, that Sasuke was into cooking… strange things. Concotionary foods and Sasuke did not walk hand-in-hand in the fan girl world that she had left ages ago. But, in reality, they did, and she was subject to them. They couldn't loose another couch to Sasuke's flimsy temper and Naruto's taunts over food, after all.

She is just as loud as Sasuke is in the morning now, her feet like cats paws across the hard wood flooring. As she peeks around the corner of the kitchen wall, she can see frustrated Sasuke fighting with the diced tomato jar. She stifles a giggle and walks around the kitchen table to the fuming brunet, who surrenders the glass container with a grunt and diverted eyes. She sighs, places the jar in the nook between her bicep and forearm, and twists the green jar off the rebellious food holder. Sasuke snatches it up and brushes his lips across her forehead. A silent thank you.

Grinning from ear to ear she goes to set the table, her perfect balance leaving her with a free hand at all times. Breakfast sizzles in its pan, eggs and tomatoes with tiny green vegetables Sasuke has stolen from his blond's packet ramen. She hums a little tune, waiting for the last of their family.

_She can't remember when she started calling it home._

--

He is awake before Sasuke rises, before the sun is up, before the first bird sings. He sleeps little now. He doesn't need too, not when he has such entertaining subjects to watch. Not when he no longer feels the call of warm pillows and downy comforters in winter, or the cool night air on his skin in summer. He sleeps little now.

He sees the way Sakura breaths in her nightmares, the way she giggles and mumbles in her best dreams, the way her brow furrows in fights long past relived anew. He watches the rise and fall of her stomach, traces the toned muscles there with a claw tipped finger, and relishes the way she shivers at the fine, butterfly touch of his sharp nails. He marvels in the way she rolls about, curling, twisting, spinning the sheets to her whims. He grins at the way she smiles contentedly after sex, or the way she goes boneless when tired after missions.

He sees the way Sasuke twitches in his memories, his nightmares, the way he opens his mouth and screams silently at the worst, the way he cries at the best. He watches the way he nuzzles into his chest after a depressing day, his head against his chest, curled in the fetal position. He traces Sasuke too, his face, his neck, his chest, the contours of his arms and legs. He rubs his fingers through his hair, memorizing texture, smell, and softness; the smoothness of Sasuke's hair mesmerized him, like petting a cat. He enjoys the contented face the pale male wears after a tumble between the bed sheets, and, when the other is asleep, traces the smiling lips with a clawed thumb.

His touches are always light now. He cannot stop the changes happening, the reddening of his hair, the claws on his hands, the pulling and slitting of his pupils, the blood color that tints his once blue eyes, or the sharpening of his teeth with each year. He cannot stop the changes, so he grows gentler and gentler with each. He fears that someday he will not be able to touch them at all.

He knows both of them by heart, from how they act in their fighting dreams to the ones that make them cry.

He plays the role of latest riser so that their routine is not blown out the window. None of his mates know of this strange attribute – the lack of sleep that he runs on – and he does not plan on telling them.

He stretches, popping his jaw and releasing his arms. The show he puts on for them is complex, a cacophony of twitches, breathing changes, snores, fidgets, and sounds, depending on person and the day. He sighs, closes his eyes, and falls back onto the bed.

Sakura and Sasuke are in the kitchen, cooking one of Sasuke's weird ass breakfasts. Eggs… tomatoes… bacon bits… salt, pepper, rosemary, ginger, onion powder… lima beans. He snorts and curls his toes. He has six minutes to get out of bed before Sakura calls for him. Five after that she will shake his shoulders. Four after she'll hit him over the head with a pillow, and he'll pull her back to bed and cover her with kisses and tickles and raspberries. She'll scuttle away, giggling, and then Sasuke will step it. He'll smack him over the head with the paper, curse his parents and his ancestors, disown him repeatedly, and rant until he decides that the brunet has spoken enough and silences him with a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and dominance. When neither gives in he'll pull rank, and weight, and push Sasuke into the bed and tickle him behind his ears and along his sides, at the soles of his feet and the backs of his knees. He'll grow savage and bite and nip and suck, and leave marks and bruises that Sakura will leave be so that Sasuke remembers whose on top, and so that she can giggle behind her delicate fingers when the other man grouches about in his kitty slippers and blue bathrobe, muttering to the paper about blondes and green eyed girls and beds that are too small.

Until then, he curls his toes and waits, the secrets that night brings far behind, torn by dawns pink claws.

_He remembers perfectly when it became a sanctuary._

* * *

Bam! Right there. No talkage… NONE! I feel so accomplished. Haha. X3


	6. Sunlight

**Pairing:** None  
**Rating:** The default rating of the century… T!  
**Note:** More angst. Some one SAVE ME XD!! Slightly(?) AU. Probably more than intended.

* * *

**Sunlight**

* * *

_Can you walk through the tall grass,  
__And feel the earth beneath your feet?  
__Can you taste the wind,  
__And embrace the sunlight?  
__Can you?_

--

The windows of the room are tall, arched, stained glass master peaces, stained in vibrant reds, deep greens and blues. The benches are bathed in colored light, the silence in the building one of reverence. The seats are empty, the red carpet of the isle flecked with dancing dust motes and fluttering light, dashing and twirling as the clouds speed by on harried wind above.

The wood is dark and warm, and she likes the color of the chapel and its paneling and its lights with finely blown glass shades. She likes its altar, the way the carpet seems to ripple up along the steps, up, up, up, reaching bloody fibers to the back of the hall. She likes the marble statue of the twelve winged angel with arms spread wide, likes the candelabra with its ornate cream wax and black wicks, likes the elaborate painting of silk wrapped cherubs and clouds and blue sky above her.

Her green gaze slides back to the ornate double high-arch doors with its carvings of Gabriel and Michael, facing each other, spear and sword held regally in front of themselves. The faint gold leafing on the decorations around the window sills on the left side of the room shivers, the last fragments of light flitting away, and in the distance she hears the roar of thunder and the crack of angry lightning. Rain runs on soft paws across the roof.

She does not remember her reason for coming to the only good looking chapel in Konoha, does not remember the need that burnt her chest and fried her insides when she woke screaming only a few hours before, the sun just barely up. She only understands that she does not belong here, in this village, in this part of the town, in this chapel. She understands clearly that this – this dream of being married to _him_, a dream long ago abandoned and now often laughed at – is not for her, never has been, never will. She understands, then, why her boys left, and she once again rolls over the idea of leaving too. After all, it's all the fad. Everyone decent is doing it. Why not join in.

She is still young by ninja standers – barely eighteen and just growing into her skin – and she knows, with knowledge beyond her age and then some, that if she leaves she will never return. She knows that if she even steps past the Konoha threshold, she will never look back, never return, never come anywhere near close it again.

There are many stories of her boys out in the world – the mysterious blond with remarkable powers, and anyone even faintly related to the Akatsuki or Orochimaru never come out alive of encounters with him. Connected to these stories are murmurs of a monster boy, with red streaked gold hair, claws for nails, and the metabolism of a mythical monster, with blood red cats eyes and fangs and a voice like broken glass over gravel. Then there are the more popular stories of the raven-haired youth who has gone rouge, leaving his snake and his weasel alive, hunting down this monster-hero for who knows what reason. She doubts he knows himself.

Thoughts of her boys bring her to her teacher – reclusive, shadow veiled teacher. After her sun, their sun, left the toad hermit, both had become more and more antisocial, bound at the hip with walls on all sides. She couldn't figure out if it was to keep society out, or keep them in.

Her life is unraveling at the seems, and can't do much about it.

As she sinks to her knees on the carpet, tears dripping down her cheeks, sunlight graces a single window and floods over her. Her green eyes drift up, and she sees the rainbow in the sky, and she knows what she must do.

--

He is lying on a red and white checker blanket, a little wicker basket at his hip and a foot away, his sandals and headband with no village marker (the special ones, the scratched one and the leaf, are tucked away in his pack, under his folded hands and head) nestled in the grass beyond the blanket.

The grass sways like some whispery forest above him and he remembers a time when he and three might have come here, the raven and the flower and the scarecrow with the fox and the secrets that bound them.

The sun is bright today, comfortable and numbing, and he closes his eyes to enjoy the light, the wispy clouds and the cotton ball trees, and feels the pull at his heart like always. Her face reaches him, his face too, and he can see them, older now, and mature, and strong and fierce and loving and hurtful and all that he is not and can never be and will never be. Because he boarded up that door long ago, and the rats that scratch at the other side now are the only reminder that its even there.

He sees himself too, younger and naïve and loud and brash, all that he was and can never, never be again. Because he was taught what true hate was, what true determination meant, what it means to give it all for one dream, no matter how twisted and broken you became. He sees the old toads face, and the scarecrows too, and he remembers clearly the day, two years after apprenticeship with the hermit, that he woke up crying and choking and gasping, his hand clutching his heart and begging for him to stop, pleasepleaseplease. He sees himself stand, on autopilot, and gather his things, and leave. Its noon when the man realizes his pupil won't be coming back. His pupil knows, distantly, the moment he wakes. There is no turning back.

It has been two years since then, and he cannot mark the days with any distinct landmarks or memories, and he can feel himself slipping into insanity. The fox is always calling him, begging to be let free. He wonders often if there ever was a demon in the first place, or if he had been secretly insane all that time in the village.

He opens his eyes and closes them again, and the scents assault him. Memories in a sense, of towns and people and weather. Pancakes and syrup, smoke and sex, rain and fresh cut grass, blood and the smell of burnt flesh, pain and happiness. They roll over him and he gasps for air, his throat closing and his eyes watering.

Standing slowly, he brushes calloused fingers across the waist high grass, his claws licking at the flora. There is a permanent fire about him now, and the longer he holds the plant, the more it shrivels, the more it dies. This is the foxes gift to him, the gift of sight and sound and touch and taste and smell all heightened and fire tinted. He seems to always be running a fever, now, and he burns people and plants and animals with prolonged contact. He cannot burn himself, no matter how hard he tires, and he has tried a great many times.

The look on his face is… different. She would be upset to see him smile like this, and he might arch an eyebrow and ask what the fuck was up with him. Because the twist of his lips and the crinkle at his eyes are the parody of a smile, the bastard child of a smirk and a sneer and a rueful grin. It shifts slightly, and there are bared teeth and stretched whiskers and it is no longer a bastard but a slut, and the twitch of his upper lip hints at disgust even as his bottom lip imitates a poutish thing of anguish. He cannot name this face. This is Kyuubi's face.

The clouds are gathering in the east, over an old abandoned church, becoming darker and darker as the seconds past. He can taste the thunder and rain and electricity in the air, can feel the static crawl across his skin, can hear the beginning of the thunders rolling call.

He smiles and falls back, absorbing the sunlight.

--

He his sitting in the hall, on one of the fallen stone pillars, sharpening his sword. The boy has evaded him again, disappearing into the recesses of society as quickly as he kills. He had started to tally the blond mans progress on the killing chart. Orochimaru had lost more men than he could gain back, and the bodies were never found. The _slick slice slap_ of the wet stone on his katana faltered slightly. Why was he doing it? He had asked himself this question multiple times, and he could not divulge the information out of anyone, and he couldn't contact the blond to ask him. _Why have you left, why do you do this, what happened to chasing me?_ A small, shining part of him had relished in the idea that one day, one day Naruto would come for him, help him defeat the snake, and they would sweep away to kill Itachi, live happily ever after in Konoha, grow stronger and stronger, and fight each other every day to prove that they were stronger than the other. A childish dream. A hope he had not yet dropped. Had Naruto?

No, the blond was too stubborn for that. When he wanted something, he wanted it, and he wouldn't drop it until he had it. But… there had once been a dream, he knew. A dream. And the blond had left it, left it, left it in the village he left behind. He had left it, left it, left it. And could never go back.

_Slick slice slap_ goes the wet stone, honing his blades edge to perfection, his thoughts far out and elsewhere.

The high arch windows of the old sanctuary are broken, jagged teeth of blue, green, red, yellow and orange sucking up light from the mid-morning sun. White throated plants with blue petals crawl across the floor, a living carpet over the once polished marble, their green stems twisting in a secretive dance. The pillar he sits on is held by these plants, their green fingers strangling the stone, wide leaves threatening to over take stone face. He is alone here, in this abandoned place, and he likes the feel of it.

His lips twist, a smirk, and he sheaths the sword with practiced ease. The wet stone it put away. Onyx eyes scan the church, soaking in everything.

Through plant and rubble he can see ancient, rotted wooden pews, maroon carpet, and chipped gold leafing. At the front of the hall is a statue, broken and cold, the faintest tinges of green wrapping around its base.

It's an angel of twelve wings, with pale, outstretched arms and flowing robe. The good of the marble garment covers the angel's eyes, its head tilted up slightly to embrace the rising sun. An invisible wind wraps around the bottom of the single peace, invisible fingers molding the stone piece.

His eyes drift to one of the broken windows, to the field of tall grass beyond and the purple-grey clouds above. Thunder rolls, lightening cracks, and the first pattering of rain races across the depleted roof.

He turns away from the sunlight beyond the clouds, and the shadows call him home.

* * *

Chili-dog. XD  
R&R, yus, yus? It makes me… happeh. :3  
Much loves  
NeKa


	7. A Smile to Shatter the Universe

**Pairing:** None  
**Rating:** K+  
**Note:** I think I had a thought that went like this: "He had a smile to shatter the universe so carefully constructed by those around him. He had a smile to shatter the universe." And sooo… here?

* * *

**A Smile to Shatter the Universe**

* * *

Consistency was one of the anchors of life. The sun always rose in the east, there where four seasons, twelve months, people died, people were born, and the sky was blue when there wasn't rain clouds in the sky. Consistency made them strong. Consistency made them week.

The world had been constructed to believe that that mask would _always_ be there. Neither rain, nor snow, nor purple clouds, nor flying armadillos, nor the sun rising in the west would ever change that. It had always been there, and therefore would always be there. Everyone had a mask, really, his was just a little more obvious; so obvious, in fact, that it was almost completely over looked by society. Ninja had strange quirks, the civilians would say, who cares about the mask? It's a symbol of his something-something, others might put in, to respect the something-hubbub of who-the-what-now where ever it happened to come from.

That was not to say that people had not tired to remove the mask; on the contrary, more people had than he could count on both hands, though he was never inclined to count them at all. His own subordinates had tried, and failed, which was not unexpected. Somewhere in the darkest recesses of his mind a little part of him might count off the times of failure, and how often the person failing had tried, and what number they happened to be after all the many before hand, and all the many after again.

And so society had decided that it was one of the 'Laws of the World,' ranking up with 'The sky is blue', 'the grass is green', and 'people die.' No one was alive that might remember his face behind the mask, and if they had been they might have not wanted to talk about it at all. Again, had they been alive.

But they weren't, so it was forgotten, and no one could recall him ever not wearing it, and so it faded even more. Consistency made them strong. Consistency made them week.

It was neither gloomily rainy nor foggily wet that morning, and nothing remarkable could be said for the people, nor the shops, nor the routine that had gone on for as may years as anyone cared to remember, if they so cared at all. It was not a morning promising surprises, nor one to foretell travesty or discontent amongst the populace of the village, and no one might have guessed what would happen but hours into the day.

None of the people around him at the time could recall what exactly triggered the removal of the mask. All that was known, and has been known since, is, that in the middle of the village, while looking at the sculpted stone head of the Fourth, beside him the Fifth, and the reigning Hokage the Sixth, he reached up and looped his fingers around his mask and dragged it down, baring his face to the world.

It seemed as though the entire populace held its breath, startled, amazed, astounded at the occurrence. Consistency had made them strong, the belief in their virtues and rights held true; but it had made them week, to comfortable with their lives to realize that one-day, such a change might happen.

It was said that Hatake Kakashi had a smile to shatter the universe.

* * *

It wasn't originally supposed to be called 'A Smile to Shatter the Universe.' It was first called 'Animal Dance', and then 'Mist', but those titles didn't do anything for me, so I rewrote the story and came up with this. It also wasn't supposed to be about Kakashi, but I like it, so its not changing. Pooodddleeessss…


	8. I Saw the Sky from Hell

**Pairing:** None  
**Rating:** Tish.  
**Note:** I think Sasuke hit me in the head with the emo-poetry bat. I blame him. Blaaaaame.

* * *

**I Saw the Sky from Hell**

* * *

_I saw it, then.  
__The Sky.  
__The sky from hell.  
__  
Not that it was hell's sky,  
__But that it was I,  
__Who sat in hell,  
__And saw the sky._

_Blue, and open, and wide,  
__Forever rolling, forever,  
__Like the tide.  
__I saw the sky from hell,  
__And knew,  
__Knew…?_

_I saw the hand with long nails,  
__Claw like nails,  
__Reach, reach, reach for me,  
__In hell._

_And I started my assent,  
__From hells blood red ground,  
__Toward the Sky.  
__I saw the sky from hell.  
_And I knew…

* * *

Well then, there's a change. Review? :3


	9. Almost isn't Always

**Pairing:** None  
**Rating:** T-ish. BECAUSE. I. can.  
**Note:** Words, like words, create words, like words, that are rude words, like words, that mean no words, like words, because words, like words, are things. How do words affect, like words, you affect, words? wtf? Two different perspectives on words.

* * *

**Almost isn't Always**

* * *

_Always_ is a stupid word. You can't _always_ do something. You can't _always_ save the day, you can't _always_ win, you can't _always_ do it right.

Always is a stupid word.

*~*

_Always_ is a pretty smart word. You can _always_ try, you can _always_ do your best, you can _always_ smile. You can _always_ do something.

Always is a pretty smart word.

*~*

_Almost_ is an intelligent word. You can _almost_ die, for example. You can _almost_ kill some one, _almost_ choke, _almost_ win, _almost_ do the right thing.

Almost is an intelligent word.

*~*

_Almost_ is a dumb word. You can't _almost_ do something. You can't _almost_ save some one, _almost_ smile, _almost_ work, _almost_ care.

Almost is a dumb word.

*~*

_Almost always_, on the other hand, is logical. You can _almost always_ do something the same way. You can _almost always_ catch the villain, _almost always_ ace tests, _almost always_ save the day.

Almost always.

I almost always win.

*~*

_Almost always_, however, is pretty right. You can _almost always_ do the same thing every day. You can _almost always_ win the fight, _almost always_ save the princess, _almost always_ get bad grades.

Almost always.

I almost always win.

* * *

Where the f-ck did this come from?  
Do not ask, for I do not know.  
Pieeeee…!  
Neph


	10. All the World

**Pairing:** None  
**Rating:** T tastic ness  
**Note:** I don't own Watership Down, or Naruto. I _do_ own a collection of string. And angst. Lots of angst.

* * *

**All the World**

* * *

_All the world will be your enemy,  
__Prince of a Thousand enemies.  
__And when they catch you,  
__They will kill you. _

_*~*_

_-- __All the world will be your enemy --_

There is sunlight, and there are clouds. There is life, there are children running.

It's morning like mourning, and morning like night, and he feels and knows and wants because its morning and night, dusk and dawn and twilight in monotone monochromatic.

It's mourning like night, and mourning like morning like May, and the flower petals from the vase on the windowsill make a rustic red and withered maroon skirt around clear glass distortion.

_-- Prince of a Thousand enemies --_

He is cold and tired and grey, and he knows like she knows like they know that

(**this is the end**)  
(**the end is near**)  
(**the end is here**)  
(**I l—e you**)

they won't make it out alive. This is

(**what the valley never brought**)  
(**what cannot be undone**)  
(**what you want**)  
(**I –o-- you**)

all that's left of a fractured boy – a fractured man – and a girl never grown – and who grew too quickly – and a man who was once a boy who saved a boy who has no regrets about giving in _who loves like love can't love the loveless. _Because they are

(**He is almost**)  
(**She is never**)  
(**He is always**)  
(**I l-v- you**)

alone.

_-- And when they catch you --_

He is dull, once bright, once life, once love, and knows like she knows like he knows that this is

(**the final battle**)  
(**the final call**)  
(**the final defeat**)  
(**My –o-e to you**)

all they have left. He is the last to remember, the last to survive, and the first to fall prey to

(**hate**)  
(**fear**)  
(**the demons inside**)  
(**l---**)

the battle lust. He is all that's left in the end, of the boy too long forgotten to remember - _who you are_ – what – _that goal was_ – that – _dream to dream of dreams undreamt by dreamers dreaming dreams of dreams_ – power was. He is, he knows,

(**the last to fall**)  
(**the first to rise**)  
(**the child of dreams undreamt**)  
(**no one**)

the last.

-- **They will kill you** --

Um. Yes. No. Applesauce?  
I blame Pickled Death's "Places In Heaven", which I _demand_ you go read. DEMANDATION!


	11. There Are Things and There Are Not

**Paring:** NejiHina misting, blink-and-miss-it HiashiNeji  
**Rating: **Tea.  
**Note:** It hits you like a thousand tons of purple jell-o and asks "WHY? WTF WHY?"  
Because I do not own. The insanity of one genius in the Hyuuga cage. _Fucking italics abuse. DEAL WITH IT.__(there may be… omg, SWEARING. U r warned)_

* * *

**There Are Things, And There Are Not**

* * *

He is all and nothing and one and two and purple and the grass untrimmed in the front lawn. He _is_ and therefore must _be_ and may be wrong and may be perfect yet not.

He sees her, as she _fights_ and _stands back up_ and _works_ to gain the power their clan is famous for. He sees her, the sister, the _brat_ as she sneers and proclaims that she is _the_ best save him because his all and nothing and no one can beat that.

So he lets her put her head on his lap when she cries, when that _bastard uncle_ decides that she just _isn't fucking good enough anymore, never was,_ and he fights back for him and for her, against 'he-who-hits-the-innocent' and 'she-who-is-_not_-god-but-wishes-to-be' because he _is._ He cannot change that. Cannot undo the undone.

So he watches her as she perfects what she has, so that she _is_ perfect, because she is far more graceful than any of them, and she _is god_, to him at least.

And then there is hurt, for the undone that was life was stitched back together, and reality held the seams. She was _not_ his, would never _be_ his, and she was not her own. She would be someone else's love, someone else's world, someone else's…

So he hurts, hurts her and himself, and turns away from 'she-who-is-_too_-good' and returns to 'that-which-is-life-in-grey', because there are no salvations on paths lined with rose thorns and over seen by clouds of black.

He sees her as she grows, distant and even more untouchable than when he was part of her life. He sees himself, all and nothing and one and two and purple and the grass too cut too short in the training field. He _is_ and he is _not_ and therefore must _be_ and yet not be, and he may be wrong and be perfect.

And he is, and yet not, and there, and yet far, and no matter how many times she _reaches_ for him, and pushes her body beyond its limits and more, he does not see.

For all his perfection, he is blind to the only light in the dark.

And this he knows, for he is and yet is not, for he his perfect and yet the best imperfection.

There are things, he knows like she knows and knows more, and there are not.


End file.
